


The Price of Freedom

by Masked_Man_2



Category: Inkheart (2008)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Guilt, Post-Betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 05:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2098047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masked_Man_2/pseuds/Masked_Man_2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dustfinger's thoughts on the bridge after he left Meggie and Fenoglio in the crypt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Freedom

Every breath he drew hurt. It was like fire was being forced into his chest, but still he kept on running. His footsteps pounded behind him, leaving a long trail of desperate drumbeats in their wake. One-two-one-two-one-two. There was no coherent thought, just stark sound. Each step he took put his nightmare further behind.

 

Finally, though, he could go no farther, and had to stop. Breathing hard, he bent over, hands resting futilely on his knees. The pack on his pack was an unbearable weight; it felt like he was shouldering the weight of the whole damn world...and then some. 

 

“Ah….” he gasped, still struggling to regain his breath. Above him, tall dark trees rose majestically out of the mountainsides, and a river rushed below him, roaring blithely on beneath the crumbling bridge. 

 

It was a beautiful sight, but he saw none of it as he stood there, motionless. Instead, faces flashed through his mind’s eye- Meggie’s tear-streaked, childish visage, the wrinkled, whimsical countenance of the old man. They moved like shuffled cards: perfect and happy one moment, marred by disgust and iron bars in the next. 

 

Iron bars...it was his fault, he knew, that they were like that, for he had left them there. Damn it all, they were locked in a bloody crypt! So had he been locked in the crypt, but he, at least, had gotten himself out. Them...they had been left behind.

 

His vision went dark, then, as their pleas rang in his ears. The old man. You don’t have to be selfish just because that’s how I wrote you! You’re more than that; you said so yourself! Stay and help us! Meggie. Don’t go! Please! Don’t leave! Their tortured, stricken voices filled his ears, his mind, his very soul, until he was tempted to fall to his knees with his hands over his ears so he wouldn’t have to listen.

 

Dear God, what had he done? How could he have been so selfish? Why hadn’t he stayed, why? It would have been only too easy to shut that frog-faced Basta up! 

 

That’s right, Dustfinger...Dirtyfingers, his conscience whispered venomously. You could have helped them, you could have gotten them out. But you didn’t, did you? You just had to save your own sorry hide. 

 

Worthless. Filthy. A traitor to the highest degree. Those awful words swirled around in his head, laughing, screeching, mocking. He was nothing more than a coward, just a two-faced, half-assed, yellow-bellied snake. 

 

In the midst of the clamoring voices in his mind, he dimly realized that he had betrayed Meggie again...just when she had, perhaps, begun to trust him. He hadn’t thought anything could make him feel worse than he already felt, but that one thought was so crushing, he almost collapsed under its weight. 

 

Suddenly, the marten ran to his feet, staring at its master with its bright eyes, as though it could sense the guilt he bore. It, too, seemed to mock him. Well, you’ve run away good and proper, those eyes seemed to say. What good did that do you? What’s your reward?

 

Almost unconsciously, he glanced back the way he had come. What reward, indeed? Was escaping really worth the terrible guilt he now felt?

 

No. That one word, one little two-letter word, sounded loud and clear amidst his mind’s desperate screams. No, it wasn’t worth it. There was only one thing he could do to undo all the wrong he’d done. Only one thing to do to make things right.

With an exasperated sigh, he began to run back, all the dark way through the rolling forests and back into the lion’s den. A kind of steely resolve gave his tired legs strength, and the cacophony of voices faded with each step he took. He would make things right. He would save them. Consequences be damned.


End file.
